


Guns & Garters

by Wolfsbride



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/pseuds/Wolfsbride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he kneels with head bowed, Bond reflects that he wouldn’t do this willingly for, or with, anyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guns & Garters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RimauSuaLay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RimauSuaLay/gifts).



As he kneels with head bowed, Bond reflects that he wouldn’t do this willingly for, or with, anyone else. 

It’s not like he’s never been on his knees before; business and pleasure both rule that out. But there’s a very big difference between being forced to submit even as a game and choosing to submit freely. Under his lowered lashes, Bond’s gaze flicks to M’s legs covered in sheer hose. There’s a slight rustling noise as M crosses her ankles and he swallows hard.

Perhaps not so freely after all.

Dragging his gaze away, Bond focuses on the floor once more. 

A twinge of pain through his knees has him resisting the urge to move, reminding him of just how long he’s been in one spot. It’s late and there’s no one to see. No one but M that is.

“In my office, James,” she’d said. 

Her voice in his ear had been as dry as the martini he favoured. Given the way the mission had played out, he figures he’s lucky she’d let him come in at all. Sore knees are the least he could put up with considering tonight she has spent an equal length of time saving his ass from the fire yet again. 

Finally the sounds of paper shuffling fade and he mentally tracks her as she puts away the tools of her trade. When his ears pick up the faint movement of her chair, his body tenses even as those legs he’s been so carefully not watching rounds the corner of her desk and a pair of sensible shoes comes into his line of view. 

M stops in front of him, saying nothing. 

The moment draws out and Bond forces his hands to stay relaxed, even though all he wants to do is touch. _Never without her permission_. 

The contact, when it comes, is gentle, fingertips gliding against his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, slowly tracing the freshly made bruises. “Dear boy. What _am_ I going to do with you?” 

Bond shudders as though he’d been electrocuted.

“Mm. I thought about making you go to the corner and stare at the wall like the naughty boy you are.” M’s tone is mild and she walks around him, her hand light against his neck.

His skin tingles in her wake.

“But I decided that _if_ I had to spend all night cleaning up your mess, I should at least get to look at your… face.” 

Lacking a length of hair to pull, M twists his ear. “Do you understand why you’re here?”

Releasing him, M returns to stand in front of him. 

Bond stops himself from rubbing his ear, knowing it would just reinforce the recalcitrant image M has of him at the moment. “Yes, ma’am.”

And he did. Punishment not pleasure. Punishing him by holding the reward just out of reach. Carrot and stick. She’s manipulating him but he doesn’t even care. He’s fucked up the job and he’ll take her teasing if it means getting back into her good graces. 

A few more minutes pass. 

Bond sucks in a breath when she steps out of her shoes and carefully pushes them to the side. Helpless, he curls his fingers into his palms.

“I’m not sure you even deserve this.” She takes a step closer as if wanting him to have no doubt about what it is he doesn’t deserve. 

“ _Ma’am_. It won’t happen again.”

M scoffs. “Somehow, I highly doubt that.” She taps his chin and his gaze snaps up to meet hers. “However, next time you might see what you can do about not royally embarrassing me, hmm?” 

Bond exhales slowly. “Yes, ma’am.”

An elegant eyebrow arches. “Well then. What are you waiting for?”

Bond’s hands tremble as he reaches out and wraps them around her ankles. It’s always like this between them. Maybe it’s because he knows M can see through the front he puts up for everyone else. He doesn’t have to be suave and or pretend to be debonair. His colleagues would have a field day if they found out M has him gagging for it like a teen-aged boy. 

The thought of his body’s needs draws him back to the here and now and he lets his hands slip over the silky stockings. Her pleasure first and then he gets his. The sensation of warmth and smoothness makes his cock twitch against his stomach. It’s a good thing no one’s ever died of blue balls; he’d be dead umpteen times over. 

His hands slide higher, pushing her skirt up as he goes. Above him, she’s silent; her only reaction the tensing of her thighs. He’s just a few inches from having the tops of her stockings come into view when his fingers brush over something hard. 

He traces the shape, surprise blossoming when he figures it out. He looks up, eyebrow raised. 

She’s looking down at him, faint smile lurking around the edges of her mouth. He has a moment to wonder if not having to crack her neck looking up at him is the reason she likes him in this position so much, and then she’s hiking the skirt up a bit more. His gaze lowers and there right in front of him, deftly holding up M’s silk stockings, is a pretty pair of garters.

They’re frilly, frivolous, not something he pictured her owning never mind wearing. He wonders if she bought them just to tease him; it excites him to think that she did. Just below the right garter is a pretty little holster, complete with a pretty little gun.

His hips jerk involuntarily and M laughs.

Scowling, Bond tightens his grip on her legs. “It’s a bit small, isn’t it?” He knows he’s being petulant but he can’t help it.

She smiles properly this time and rests her hands on his shoulders for balance as she lifts her foot, pressing it against the bulge in his trousers. “Not everyone needs a big gun to get the job done, James.”

He bites back the sound that’s trying to escape and allows her the point. The gun is tiny but dangerous at close range, a bit like M in that regard. But there the analogy rests because it also looks delicate and M is anything but.

“It’s just I would have figured you for a dagger.” Something thin and razor sharp, able to cut to the quick with no hesitation.

M laughs again, softer, the sound almost fond. “I do love a good shiv but not since I’m stuck in the office. They’re a bitch to sit with.” 

And just like that Bond is reminded that this woman was an agent before he was even born and looking at her now, seeing how she maneuvers her way through the bureaucracy of the espionage business he can only imagine what she must have been like in the field. And that image is something fierce. The thought of her taking out an opponent with a weapon as easily as she cuts them down with her words has him rocking against her toes.

He isn’t able to stifle the whine he makes when she moves her foot away. 

She chides him. “You know the rules.”

Right. He leans forward and gets a whiff of musk and leather, which makes him shift restlessly as his cock pushes hard against his trousers. He nuzzles against the holster, tongue flicking out to get a taste of skin as well. Both are warm and carry a faint trace of salt. He lets himself smile into M’s thigh as he finally gets a response. The hitch in her breathing is as telling as more obvious clues from someone else.

As he mouths closer to his goal, he realizes that the skin between her legs is very slick. When he pushes her skirt up further he sees why. There’s no fabric to absorb her dampness. 

His composure leaves him.

He drags her up his body as he stumbles to his feet, nearly tumbling them both to the floor again as his knees remind him they’ve been locked in one position for a couple of hours. He curses as he rights himself, curses even more when he registers her laughter on the light side of mocking. He’s at her desk in a few steps and he’s glad she’s already cleared it off otherwise he wouldn’t be able to guarantee the safety of anything she had on it. 

When he rests her on the edge, she lays back, drawing her skirt up all the way and spreading her legs. The holster is stark against her pale skin, the gun peeking shyly out of it. It’s the only thing shy about M. 

He stares down at her, hand pressed tight against his cock, struggling to back away from the edge he’s teetering on. She gazes back at him, mouth quirked. Her hands slip from her hips to the insides of her thighs and she breathes out on a sigh as she holds herself open. 

His control breaks completely.

He’s on her before he can think; hands scrabbling madly to free himself. The arch of her back and the way she wraps her legs around his hips as he shoves inside her tells him the long wait tormented her as much as it did him. At least in this they’re equal. He braces his hands on either side of her waist and she grasps his arms, fingers biting into his muscles. 

The act is totally graceless. Everything he knows about seduction and technique forgotten as he ruts against her, chasing his release. If this was a test, he’s failed it spectacularly. Or passed it. It’s hard to tell with M. Her face gives nothing away. It’s his goal to make her fall apart as easily as she does him. He hasn’t managed it yet.

And he’s not going to succeed today either. Not with the way his need is coiling around his balls. She tightens around him and he spills inside her in several rapid fire thrusts. He stiffens his arms not wanting to crush her beneath his weight. 

She huffs and cups the back of his head with both hands. “Oh, do relax, will you?”

He lets her pull him down and presses his cheek against hers. “Did you…” He trails off. It seems gauche to ask. 

M wiggles and makes the most decadent noise he’s ever heard. It’s enough to get him twitching again. 

When she laughs this time, there is only amusement in her tone. “No. But I was entertained all the same.”

Bond pulls back and glowers down at her. Only with M could he win by losing.


End file.
